


In Flagrante Delicto

by cookingwithcyanide



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Exhibitionism, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Praise Kink, and maxwell does come.... nightmare fuel that is, but gotdamn it does come close!, collection of semen, fellas is it gay to jack off for science, for SCIENCE there are TESTS to be done!!, its not quite, ive gotta say in this case it probably is, maxwell comes nightmare fuel yup thats about it, nightmare fuel as come, nightmare fuel as lube, were gonna call this a helping handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26601520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookingwithcyanide/pseuds/cookingwithcyanide
Summary: Maxwell clears his throat. “Did you need something, or are you just here to gape?”“Stars, I’m so sorry! I Didn’t realize you would be- oh?” Something catches Wilson’s eye. There, puddling in the web of skin between Maxwell’s loosely circled thumb and forefinger, is translucent fluid just darker than the plum red skin of the erection it sits against. “Is that... nightmare fuel?”..."Will you let me collect a sample?"
Relationships: Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 79





	In Flagrante Delicto

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you have to participate in your campmate's masturbation in the pursuit of SCIENCE in order to study his funky nightmare biology that remains after his stint on the throne. Sometimes you find out that he's actually, like, REALLY into that kind of thing. What an educational afternoon!

Wilson is characteristically more preoccupied with hindsight than where he’s going when he crashes into the tent, chattering on to the world and nobody about something inane and likely pernicious he’s done and plans to do again to a tallbird in the name of experimentation. He comes to a full stop, however, at the sight of Maxwell on the ground in the middle of the shelter.

His campmate is stretched languidly across a straw bedroll, sweaty and flushed, with his trousers bunched hastily about his knees. He seems to have frozen mid-stroke, his cock erect in the air and hand curled around it- there is no mistaking what he has walked in on. Amidst the shock of embarrassment, Wilson’s mind procures the latin  _ in flagrante delicto. _ He should scurry away immediately and stop staring open mouthed at the assuredly very personal sight of Maxwell's hand around his own dick. In Wilson’s defense, he is trying to avoid unnecessary eye contact. Maxwell clears his throat. “Did you need something, or are you just here to gape?”

“Stars, I’m so sorry! I Didn’t realize you would be- oh?” Something catches Wilson’s eye. There, puddling in the web of skin between Maxwell’s loosely circled thumb and forefinger, is translucent fluid just darker than the plum red skin of the erection it sits against. “Is that... nightmare fuel?” Maxwell suddenly finds Wilson much,  _ much _ nearer to him, struck with the undeniable urge to examine a novel phenomenon more closely.

Maxwell’s fingers flex impatiently along the underside of his dick as he frowns. He really was in the  _ middle _ of something before he was so abruptly interrupted, yet he is unfathomably reluctant to tell Wilson to get lost. Reluctant to turn away his earnest, enthused observation. Maxwell’s hand squeezes just the slightest bit, sending butterflies swooping up through his stomach. He’s still flushed and a little strangled when he says, “I would imagine so,” and eases his hand off his cock, because he would really rather not have to keep tamping down the desire to continue his ministrations, Wilson’s presence be damned, while the man is kneeling in the grass barely a foot away. He would really rather not think about the prospect of Wilson’s sharp, sharp gaze on him while he jerks himself off. It’s… exciting. He isn’t totally prepared to delve into why that is.

Unfortunately, Wilson takes that as an opportunity to grab his hand and bring it close to his face to run an inquisitive finger through the sheen of fuel on Maxwell's palm. His tongue is poking out between his teeth in thought and as he rubs his fingers together and examines the slick between them, Maxwell has the terrible thrilling thought that Wilson might bring those fingers to his tongue and taste him. He shifts his hips and his cock releases another pearly black drop, which Wilson’s eyes track keenly as it rolls its way down to the base. Maxwell burns under his gaze. “Higgsbury, if you're quite finished-”

“Will you let me collect a sample?”

Before Maxwell can begin to process the request, let alone parse an answer, Wilson has sprung to his feet and abandoned the tent. Relieved, Maxwell takes the respite to return to his slow stroking, shivering when the now-cooled fuel on his palm makes contact with his heated flesh. He recalls Wilson's deft fingers gripping his wrist. Wilson's intense eyes tracing the curve of his erection. A low groan rises up his throat. 

“Yes, yes, that's excellent Maxwell!” Maxwell's eyes snap back to the entrance of the tent- there is Wilson again, carrying a jar and his notes. Something deep in his stomach flutters at Wilson's words.

“It's not as though-  _ ah _ \- it's not as though it takes much skill.” Wilson settles back down onto the edge of his straw roll, close enough that Maxwell can nearly feel the heat radiating off of him. Maxwell twists his wrist with the slightest flourish on his next stroke- he is a performer at heart, after all.

“Still,” Wilson graces him with half a smile before returning his gaze to the spectacle before him, jotting absentminded notes all the while. “You are well practiced in prestidigitation, are you not? Surely that must lead to a certain level of talent with one's hands. And you do have rather elegant fingers...” Wilson trails off to make another note when Maxwell's hips stutter upwards into his hand.

Maxwell's breaths are coming in short pants now, but he grasps at his composure. “I suppose  _ hmm _ that some level of the tech-“ he breaks off moaning when Wilson reaches out and thumbs a bead of dark precum off the flushed head of Maxwell’s cock and into the jar. His skin is warm and calloused. Maxwell's own hand twitches lamely around his cock for a moment while his jaw hangs slack. 

Wilson pats his hip reassuringly.  _ God _ his hands are big-

“Keep going Maxwell, you're doing wonderfully.'' Maxwell shudders and returns to his stroking, more urgently now. Wilson has left his heavy hand on his hip and he's smiling placidly, encouragingly at Maxwell. He looks utterly collected, and Maxwell feels all the more disarranged for it. “I believe you were discussing your technique?”

Maxwell can't even muster a glare. “Yes,” he hates how breathy his voice is, though Wilson looks ever more satisfied with himself. “I was saying that... yes, that there may be some overlap in,  _ oh,” _ Wilson’s hand envelops Maxwell’s to guide another dribble of nightmare fuel into the collection jar. This time, it stays. Maxwell stares at their overlaid grips, Wilson taking care of the bulk of the direction now, and Maxwell just brought along for the ride. “Deftness of hands,” he finishes. He can feel his orgasm mounting, waves of it coiling up in his tense stomach and waiting to unfurl. 

“Higgsbury,” he gasps,  _ “Wilson, _ I'm going to-“ Wilson thumbs the head of his cock again and he loses the rest of his thought to the shot of heat like lightning that lances through his whole abdomen, almost enough to send him over, and he cries out. 

“Go on, Maxwell, it's okay.” Wilson’s words are so calm, so cool- he might even say clinical if the tone wasn’t so fond. Maxwell thinks that he is trembling slightly, all over except for where Wilson is guiding his hand slowly and deliberately, drawing Maxwell out on a taut, quivering line. His hips jerk up into the grip but Wilson pulls his rhythm just enough out of sync that Maxwell can never catch the pleasure he's chasing. It's terrible. It's idyllic. Maxwell can stand no more.

“Wilson,  _ please _ -“ he nearly sobs. His free hand clutches at Wilson's arm, verging on desperation.

Wilson  _ hmms _ over him. “Alright, alright. Since you've been such an agreeable specimen.”

After that, it only takes two quick flicks of Wilson’s wrist for Maxwell to come undone, spilling himself into the waiting jar that Wilson holds ready for him. He keeps pumping Maxwell, hot and slick and unbearably sensitive, until far past the point that he's begun to soften in Wilson's hand and the stars have cleared from his eyes. 

Boneless, Maxwell watches Wilson meticulously squeeze every last drop of fuel from him, whimpering at the continued agitation of his spent cock. As the rest of the world filters back in, Maxwell realizes that Wilson is still speaking, murmured praise of  _ there you go, _ and  _ just a little more now, _ and  _ been so good for me. _ Maxwell lets his heavy eyelids slip shut under Wilson's ministrations until he’s started out of his doze by Wilson's soft handkerchief pressed against his forehead, drying away his beaded sweat. Despite his lassitude, Maxwell finds it in himself to grumble, “You look pleased with yourself.” Wilson's laugh is bright. Maxwell sullenly insists to himself that it does not foster any warmth in his chest. 

“And you look  _ pleased,” _ the bastard grins at him. Maxwell is fairly certain that he has thoroughly dried away all of his sweat by now, but Wilson continues petting at his face and hair. He supposes he’ll allow it, just because it is rather pleasant. “Thank you for being such a willing subject.”

Maxwell turns his head so that it presses more firmly against Wilson's gentle hand. “It was fine. I suppose you’ll be needing more samples in future for your damned pedantic scientific process, won’t you?”

Wilson laughs aloud again, and again Maxwell denies the affection that rises in him at the sound. “Yes, I suppose I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a joke between my dearest Rhys and I and now look where we are. I have an adjacent fic idea for one where Wilson gives Maxwell head and gets a mouthful of nightmare fuel too, well fucking SEE if that ever plays out. What can I say, I like having Wilson do weird science on Maxwell and having Maxwell do weird mind-altering shit to Wilson. I have but simple tastes.


End file.
